Promise
by Xi-feng
Summary: In the time of Fuuga, a bruised and bloody Kadsuki comes back from the Belt Line.


The Belt Line is cruel. It is no respecter of rank, it does not acknowledge kindness, nor make allowances for beauty.

Only He (the capital is always there, natural as breathing) would be so foolish as to think it could, that the gifts that carry him through the shadows of Lower Town could cow the animals that inhabit the higher levels. Up there, they cannot appreciate who He is, cannot comprehend _what _He is.

The Battle Prince, the Threadspinner, the Fuuchouin heir, the Flower of Mugenjou, the sound of bells, the laughter in moonlight, the voice of authority that overrides all else.

The builder of the framework in which we live our lives.

Fuuga.

Only He could name a street gang 'Elegance', only He could make it one of the most powerful and feared in the whole of Mugenjou. He never raises His voice, He does not use violence to make us obey Him, does not use force to ensure our loyalty. It has never been necessary for Him to do that. 

Look at Him.

Even bloody and dirtied, beaten down into unconsciousness, His skin still glows with the light of the moon He carries in His name. His chest moves up and down as He breathes, and the tattered crimson dress leaking its colour into His creamy flesh makes Him no less beautiful – it lends him a childlike fragility that transcends such concepts altogether. 

And He shifts, the white plain of His forehead crinkles, and He murmurs-

"…Juubei…"

The air catches in my throat; deadly beautiful as He is, the moon-flower's thorns dig deep. They leave bloody trails wherever they touch me, no matter how gentle He wants to be, no matter how innocent. And it hurts.

Oh but it hurts.

But what does Kakei know of that? For he who owns the flower the thorns don't catch or tear, for Kakei there are only the velvet petals that smell of His skin, deep roots that spread deep into a shared past and bind them together closer than His threads ever could.

Kakei passes a gentle hand over His brow, smoothing back glossy strands the colour of burnt memories and cries in the night, the other hand reaching to touch slender needles to the correct meridian points to send Him back into a light, untroubled sleep, but even in unconsciousness He knows, must know, that Kakei is there. If I were to hold Him like that, He would not sleep as sound. His fingers clutch at Kakei's shirt, as if to make sure His samurai will not leave Him. As if he would. As if he could.

Fuuchouin thread style, Kakei needle technique. I'm not stupid, and I'm not blind either. I know what that means. Five hundred year-old ties, needle and thread making up a whole, complete and self-sufficient, and the Murasame school has no place there.

There's nothing more I can do here. His ki is flowing nearly normally again; I unravelled some of the bigger snarls and tangles, the rest he did himself without even knowing it. So deceptively hardy, even though He looks like the first frost would wither Him, the first strong breeze strip Him of His colours and leave Him defenceless and bare in the cracks of Mugenjou's pavements.

…And what could I possibly do to soothe Him? I am not Kakei Juubei.

Kakei is the doctor, the guardian, but I know my position just as well.

I am the Hell Knight. Kakei protects our prince

_(but really only his prince)_

but my duty is the destruction of anything that could hurt Him, before it ever gets the chance to come near Him. That is the task I took upon myself the moment I first laid eyes on Him. And I have failed, haven't I?

I want to go up to the Belt Line and take it apart with my bare hands, take apart every creature up there who dared lay their filthy hands on the Flower of Mugenjou, who dared to insult Him with their filthy eyes on His body. The only thing that stops me is knowing that, if He were awake, that is the first thing He would forbid me to do. He is so concerned with our well-being, yet He neglects His own, if He thinks that even the Prince of Battle Terror can take on the Belt Line alone. I actually find myself daring to be angry at His arrogance; what are we lieutenants for, if He cannot trust us to be by His side?

When all I live for is to keep Him safe, and He goes into danger without me, what am I doing here? Why do I put myself through this, suffer like this for His sake?

There is no safe place in Mugenjou; there is only safety in numbers. At night we lie down together in the lee of this or that old and crumbling building in Fuuga territory. We move around often to evade enemies, but the inconsequential setting is the only thing that changes when His moon shines down each and every night from behind the core structure of Babylon. They are so quiet, and it is only when He cries out Kakei's name in the darkness that I have to bite my lip, dig my nails into my palms until the blood comes, pretend that I'm sleeping.

And it's so empty, and it hurts.

He looks, and it's Kakei that he sees, Kakei who's always first in His eyes, in His thoughts, in His heart. He reaches out and His fingers brush over Kakei's form, and I melt away and scatter into the dark. His light does not touch me; his warmth cannot find me, and I am left cold and alone in another's shadow.

But _why _must it be so?I am _not _inferior! I am _not _less than Kakei, and when the day comes for me to prove it, I will _not _lose. Not to him.

This, I swear.

I will fight for you, I will prove it to you, the only way I know how.

I shall not fail you again.

This, I promise you.


End file.
